Dead Hunt

to leave politics amid one of Rosewood’s worst

catastrophes—an explosion that killed more than

thirty students—it left a vacuum his political opponents eagerly filled. Diane knew Adler’s friends and

family believed she had misdirected paramedics, causing Adler to be left in subfreezing temperatures overnight, resulting in severe harm to him. They were

wrong. It was not her fault. But they still blamed her. And there was one thing about Adler’s gang of

friends. They were as vindictive as hell.

Chapter 22

‘‘Can I get any of you something to drink?’’ said Diane. She wanted to add, while the DA is straightening his tie, but didn’t. Tie straightening was Riddmann’s tell. Diane didn’t think he knew it. ‘‘I have a refrigerator in my osteology office.’’

There was a round of ‘‘no’’ from the marshals and Garnett—just enough time to interrupt Riddmann’s flow. He glared at her. Diane sat looking at him innocently. He stumbled for words for several moments before continuing.

‘‘What if I told you the blood in your apartment was fresh and belonged to one person,’’ he said.

‘‘I would say that person is most likely dead,’’ said Diane.

‘‘What if I said the blood trail leads from your apartment to your car and that a knife from your apartment was found in the trunk along with more of the same blood that was in your apartment?’’ said Riddmann.

‘‘I would be very surprised,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Is that what you are saying?’’

He didn’t answer. Diane didn’t think he would. She was starting to resent being treated like a perp. She would stop the whole thing, but Riddmann would probably make Garnett drag her butt downtown.

‘‘And what if I told you the blood belonged to Clymene O’Riley?’’ said Riddman.

Diane didn’t say anything and again feigned astonishment. ‘‘Does it? Are you saying that Clymene was in my home?’’

‘‘Are you sticking to your story that you slept through a massacre going on in your apartment?’’ said Riddmann.

Apparently all of my neighbors did too, she thought. This is where he wanted to entice her to start a cascade of confessions: Maybe I heard something, but didn’t get out of bed; yes, I got out of bed but when I saw someone in my apartment I hid; well, maybe I did confront them but I didn’t kill them—it was someone else; well, maybe they attacked me and I had to defend myself. And last: well, there I was ankle deep in blood and a body in the living room—what was I to do but dump it?

But there was nothing to confess. The fact was, she did sleep through it. And Riddmann knew she did. So what was this about? Comeuppance for Adler?

‘‘Of course I’m sticking by my account,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It’s the truth.’’

‘‘Maybe you just don’t remember,’’ said Riddmann.

‘‘What would be the mechanism that would cause sudden amnesia in me?’’ said Diane.

‘‘People do have experiences they don’t remember later . . . for any number of reasons,’’ said Riddmann.

‘‘It would be unprecedented in me,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Let’s look for horses and not zebras. Blood and urine samples were taken from me at the hospital. Do you have the results?’’ asked Diane.

He glanced at his watch on his left wrist and back up at Diane. ‘‘You’ve been having a lot of stress at the museum. Then an escaped prisoner breaks into your home. Perhaps that caused some kind of mental break,’’ he said.

The marshals shifted in their seats. Diane didn’t think they were happy with Riddmann’s questions. Maybe they sensed another agenda—or maybe they just wanted him to hurry and ask where she hid the body.

‘‘No stress, just bad newspaper articles,’’ said Diane. ‘‘If I blanked out every time there was stress at the museum, I would be in a constant state of sleepwalking. I didn’t black out; I don’t have amnesia. Do you have the tox screens back?’’

‘‘It’s just a few more questions. What do you think happened?’’ he asked in a voice meant to tell her he was trying now to be friendly.

This was another of the trap questions. Get the suspect to come up with a scenario that will reveal that he, or she, has more information than he or she should. Diane rolled her eyes—and it set Riddmann off. He slammed his fist on the table.

‘‘Look, we’ve been very accommodating to you. We could be having this conversation downtown with the press waiting outside. Anyone else, we would have. You’ve been getting a free ride because of your political connections, your status with the crime lab and with the museum. From your performance here and what I’ve been reading in the newspaper, you aren’t doing a very good job in either.’’

Diane placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. She would have stood up, but under the circumstances Riddmann might think she was about to attack him. The mention of her political connections and the references to the newspaper articles about the museum tweaked her suspicions and she could feel her face flush. It was clear now what was going on. Vanessa Van Ross was politically opposite from Riddmann’s mentor, Adler, and over the years had done considerable damage to Adler’s and his friends’ plans for the city. Vanessa was too wealthy and well connected to take on directly, but attacking the museum was a different matter. Everyone who knew Vanessa, knew the museum was like her child. Hurt the museum, hurt her.

‘‘Are you the one feeding the press misinformation about the museum?’’ she asked.

Riddmann’s eyes widened. He glanced down at his watch and back up at Diane. He hesitated too long to speak and Diane knew she was right. Or thought she was right. But what could this idiot know about Egyptian artifacts?